


I break the hourglass and watch time unfold

by Drakojana



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Another Writing Experiment, Anti isn't entirely sane here, M/M, Murder, Oneshot, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakojana/pseuds/Drakojana
Summary: He's lost any real feeling a long time ago. The cold skin burns, yet he doesn't even flinch.





	I break the hourglass and watch time unfold

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, it's AntiMark from me again! What a surprise ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Once more I tried something a bit different, I hope you like the idea!

Anti stares at his hands. What a mess he's made again, and he has to clean it all up.

He steps towards the sink and turns the tap on, choosing the cold water as usual. He has no real reason not to at pick at least warmer temperature other than his silly preferences. Maybe the man with emerald hair enjoys the feeling on his skin. Or maybe because he can't feel anything at all.

Anti picks up a sponge that's been lying on the edge of the bathtub, kicking an arm of the body on the floor in the process. He wonders if he should clean it up as well, though leaves it be for the moment. He begins scrubbing the blood off his hands with circular motions.

The icy water slowly makes his nerves go numb. But he's lost any real feeling a long time ago. The cold skin burns, yet he doesn't even flinch. The stream hits his hands over and over again, and the noise slowly turns to static in his ears. The sound of running water, his own breathing, the afternoon traffic outside - it's all reduced to one monotonous ringing.

The green-eyed man keeps scrubbing, washing all the blood off his hands. The crimson taints the crystal clear water from the tap. In a way, he's enamored by the colour. So dark on his skin, on the floor, on the dead body… And yet it changes hues as soon as it comes in contact with the water. A monochrome rainbow paints the sink as he sees it fit. Anti hums at the sight, it almost makes him feel like an artist creating something new, something unique. The blood is his paint, and the shock factor is his focus.

He scrubs and scrubs until his pale hands turn red and even then he does not stop. The murderer keeps rubbing the rough side of the sponge against his skin, watching as the water that's slowly losing colour begins to turn crimson once more. His skin breaks, yet he still keeps going. Blood swirls down the drain, some of it splashing against the sink and leaving beautiful stains. He's mesmerised by the sight and the dull pain somewhere at the back of his mind is a petty price for it.

Anti's so numb his fingers let go of the sponge. It falls without a sound, its light blue colour already turned deep purple. He stares at the trembling hands and thinks of the cold radiating from them. Then he glances at the dead body lying beside his feet. It's slowly losing its heat, too. He does not mind comparing it to himself. With the lack of feeling, he might as well be dead himself.

The green-haired man decides to leave the body in the bathroom, for Mark to see. Then he remembers. Right, Mark. He's coming home soon. Anti closes his eyes, no longer bothering to use the sponge to clean his hands. He brings one hand down on his skin and guesses his nails will do just fine. So he scratches and rakes them all over his arms now, the continuous stream of blood dripping down all the cuts and wounds like a cruel fountain.

At some point, he's not sure when, he clenches his teeth so hard they grind against each other under the pressure. And so a new sound interrupts the cacophony inside of his brain, for a moment ruining the imperfect harmony. His breathing's uneven now, too, and there's a low growl hiding at the back of his throat.

A pair of hands suddenly stops him. They wrap their fingers firmly around Anti's wrists and separate his own hands. The man's eyes fly open and his gaze zeroes in on the mirror. In the reflection he sees the raven-haired man stand behind him, slowly pressing his chest against Anti's back as he pulls the green-eyed man's hands away from each other.

Mark's tired soft amber meets his electric emerald full of madness. The brown-eyed man leaves a light kiss on the back of Anti's neck and opens his mouth to speak. His voice has always been almost therapeutic. Its deep rumble resonates within Anti's bones, echoes in the empty hallways of his mind. Nearly calms down the chaos on the inside.

"You've done it again?" This time his voice does not break and the green-haired man feels proud. So he's getting used to it.

Anti nods, though now that his mind slowly goes quiet, his vision begins to swim. He may not feel the pain itself, but the blood loss will always catch up to him.

"It's alright," Mark sighs and tugs the other man to make him follow. "Let's patch you up."

They leave the bathroom and go to the kitchen, where the raven-haired man has hidden their medical supplies. Anti is sat down on a chair as Mark pulls out bandages. The man's eyes have dark circles under them from all the sleepless nights, thanks to the other.

The soft fabric greedily soaks the fresh blood and water up as Mark wraps it around Anti's arms a couple of times. He's stopped asking if it hurts a long time ago. Of course, it doesn't.

When the man with the amber eyes is finished with the task, he leaves more gentle kisses on top of each hand. Then he lets them go and watches as they hang limply on Anti's side. An ugly sigh escapes his mouth after a while.

"I'm worried that one day I may get back home too late."

The green-haired man hums in response. He hasn't been one to talk ever since he dragged a knife across his throat one time. The stitches are still there, he makes sure they stay by regularly picking on the ever-healing wound.

Mark sits down heavily in another chair and wordlessly rests his head on Anti's shoulder. Maybe, just maybe the man with the emerald eyes could try speaking up for once. So he does. Whatever comes out of his mouth, though, sounds like a strangled cry. Words are so hard to form lately.

Mark mutters and Anti feels his hand in his hair, gently petting him. After a couple of minutes, he pulls him closer, the second arm wrapping around the green-haired man's waist. The green-eyed man finds himself returning the gesture, as much as he can. He gladly leans forward, so their foreheads are touching.

Anti doesn't have feelings. But he knows Mark does. Finally, he manages to find his voice to reply.

"M…me too…"

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed reading! I appreciate the response!
> 
> Title comes from the song [**Way Too Deep** by Grabbitz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4T28WgVqdrA)


End file.
